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F. Scott Fitzgerald, the beautiful and damned (1934)

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Virginia Woolf, from The Waves

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Crazy how we are everything that has happened to us but then you meet someone and you don’t see everything that has happened to them you just see them. And you both try to explain everything that has happened to you but your words and memories are so biased and oversimplified.

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“As soon as you begin to ask the question, Who loves me? you are completely screwed, because the next question is How Much? and then it is hundreds of hours later, and you are still hunched over your flowcharts and abacus, trying to decide if you have gotten enough. This is the loneliest job in the world: to be an accountant of the heart. It is late at night. You are by yourself, and all around you, you can hear the sounds of people moving in and out of love, pushing the turnstiles, putting their coins in the slots, paying the price which is asked, which constantly changes. No one knows why.”

— Tony Hoagland, “The Loneliest Job in the World”

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— Susan Sontag, Death Kit

[text ID: How can I describe my life to you? I think a lot, listen to music. I’m fond of flowers.]

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“I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, "This is what it is to be happy.”

- Sylvia Plath

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maybe this silly little coffee drink will equip me to face the unrelenting and unendurable horror of existence

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- Sylvia Plath, from 'Ariel'

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when fiona apple said “im such an incredibly, stupidly sensitive person that everything that happens to me, i experience it really intensely. i feel everything very deeply. and when you feel things deeply and you think about things a lot and you think about how you feel, you learn a lot about yourself. and when you know yourself, you know life.”……… she knew.. she was right

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“Still, love is the impulse from which poetry springs. Even dark poems. Especially dark poems. To know the worst and write in spite of that, that must be love.”

— Lisel Mueller, from The Poet’s Notebook: Excerpts from the Notebooks of 26 American Poets, eds. Stephen Kuusisto, Deborah Tall, & David Weiss (W. W. Norton & Co., 1995) 

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one of my greatest sorrows in life is tiny notebooks. i love them and yet they torment me. they are so cute and yet so useless. you can carry them everywhere but at what cost. your hand will always fall off the edge and it will always feel like you’re writing at the bottom of the page

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Mary Oliver was right. It IS a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world

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sick of guys offering to buy girls drinks in bars where are the guys offering to buy girls books in bookstores

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“The best thing about the bedroom was the bed. I liked to stay in bed for hours, even during the day with covers pulled up to my chin. It was good in there, nothing ever occurred in there, no people, nothing.”

— Charles Bukowski

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“A book can teach you, a conversation can assure you, a poem can seduce you, a genius can inspire you but only you can save yourself.”

— Anthony Anaxagorou

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my year of stomach pain and compulsive bevaviors

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Clementine Von Radics, from In A Dream You Saw A Way To Survive; “You are on the floor crying”

#excerpts #writings #literature #poetry #clementine von radics #fragments #selections #words #quotes #lit #typography #poetry collection #american literature #american poetry #healing #recovery